Quotes About Mystery

I looked down at my body, bare in the fire's light, and tried to imagine it written over with its history: my palm with its lightning streak, my hand missing its fingers, the thousand cuts from my witch-work, the gristled furrows of my father's fire, the skin of my face like some half-melted taper. And those were only the things that had left marks. […] I was a golden witch, who had no past at all.

My chest trilled with something I could not quite name. Escape, and danger, and hope all at once.

It was dark, and there was only a little moon, which I took to mean that the goddess, if she existed, smiled on me.

I brought a withered flower back to life. I banished flies from my house. I made the cherries blossom out of season and turned the fire vivid green. If Aeetes had been there, he would have choked on his beard to see such kitchen tricks. Yet because I knew nothing, nothing was beneath me.

The spiral shell. Always another curve out of sight.

It was the sort of secret I loved to discover, for it made me feel cynical and wise.

The world was made of mysteries, and I was only another riddle among the millions. I did not answer him, and though he pretended frustration, I began to see that it pleased him in some strange way. A door that did not open at his knock was a novelty in its own right, and a kind of relief as well. All the world confessed to him. He confessed to me.

Though the rooms were deserted, there was no speck of dust, and I would learn that none could cross the marble threshold. However I tracked upon it, the floor was always clean, the tables gleaming. The ashes vanished from the fireplace, the dishes washed themselves, and the firewood regrew overnight.

When he talked, he was lawyer and bard and crossroads charlatan at once, arguing his case, entertaining, pulling back the veil to show you the secrets of the world. It was not just his words, though they were clever enough. It was everything together: his face, his gestures, the sliding tones of his voice. I would say it was like a spell he cast, but there was no spell I knew that could equal it. The gift was his alone.

Come, make us into magic.

Se ausentaba a la última hora de la noche o a primera hora de la mañana, cuando todos dormían en palacio, y regresaba con las mejillas enrojecidas y oliendo a mar.

It did not take Lil-Umbra long with her fifteen-year-old legs and her slender figure to scamper down the quarter-of-a-mile avenue of over-arching elms that led due eastward from the Fortress of Roque, where she lived, to the ancient circle of Druidic stones that had come to be known as Castrum Sanctum.

He had only one life. That was a basic and relentless fact. An eternity of 'something or other' lay behind him, and an equally obscure eternity of 'something or other' lay in front of him.

So potent however is the concentrated love of the feminine heart, that although this man, sitting there above her, had just beheld—actually in the flesh—that elusive Mystery which was the cause of Glastonbury's being Glastonbury, it was the girl and not the man who dominated that moment, her exultation, and not his, that held the thunder-flash of that charged air.

There was after all no mystery in the end of love, no mystery but the mystery of love itself, which was large certainly but as real as grass, as natural and unaccountable as bloom and branch and their growth.

The best interests of theology lie not in God in the highest but in the depths of God, something deep within God, even older than God, or deeper than God, and for that very same reason, deep within us, we and God always being intertwined.

She went inside and watched him walk back toward sixteen

The world is full of damp rocks, with some very strange creatures hiding under them.

I drove out. There were a half-dozen cars there. A house man let me in. Brell came hurrying to me to pump my hand. He was a trim-bodied man in his late forties, dark and handsome in a slightly vulpine way, and I suspected he wore a very expensive and inconspicuous hair piece. He looked the type to go bald early. He had a resonant voice and a slightly theatrical presence. He wore tailored twill ranch pants and a crisp white shirt with blue piping.

her dark eyes were like twin entrances to two deep caves. Nothing lived in those caves. Maybe something had, once upon a time. There were piles of picked bones back in there, some scribbling on the walls, and some grey ash where the fires had been.

Aqui, tanto no espaço, como no tempo, parecemos ter sido trazidos para um pouco mais perto desse grande facto - o mistério dos mistérios -, o aparecimento pela primeira vez, de novos seres nesta Terra.

Ghost Riders in the Sky" meets Vince Guaraldi!

Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.

Death in itself is nothing; but we fear. To be we know not what, we know not where.